Lost at Sea
by Kourtie
Summary: When Thranduil embarks on one of his typical journeys to Lindon to improve diplomatic relations, he leaves the seaside city with more than strengthened alliances when an elf skilled in the magical arts catches his eye from across the shores.
1. Chapter 1

**SA 500**

Thranduil enjoyed his time in Lindon. As of recently, his father had asked him if he would like to accompany him on the journey to find a realm to call their own, in which Thranduil responded by saying he would like to stay with his fellow Sindar kinsmen for the time being and attempt to establish some sort of diplomatic relation that would be favorable to their future Kingdom, which, due to Thranduil's silver-tongue, was going quite well in his opinion.

Regularly, Thranduil was invited dine with Gil-galad and Círdan on a large balcony overlooking the sea. They would enjoy small cakes and other finger-foods, but unfortunately for Thranduil, the elves of Lindon considered the guilty pleasures of wine something to not be indulged in as often as their silver-haired guest would have hoped.

Since its establishment at the beginning of the age, Thranduil had been a frequent visitor to the city, mostly due to the sea. There were few things he loved more than the waves that weathered at the shores of Lindon. Many a day he would revel in the pleasantries the water had to offer and sit on the beaches, staring out at the distant horizon or enjoying small naps on the sand with the aid of the seabreeze lulling him to sleep.

* * *

Being one of the few practitioners of magic in Lindon, Nenthien had had a relatively simple life. There was rarely need for her assistance in any matters during these peaceful times, though it was well known throughout the seaside city that if you were to acquire a wound that was beyond your own abilities, to inquire with Nenthien, who would provide you with the proper herbs or her personal skills to help cure any ailments that were acquired.

Today, she walked along the beach as the sun was setting, letting her bare feet appreciate the warm sand beneath them, as she was careful not to step on the hem of her gown. Nenthien reached down to grab a shell that she spotted from the window of her home earlier to add to her ever growing collection. As she was straightening herself after acquiring the small object, she spotted the silhouette of a man on the opposite side of the beach. He sat with his legs out in front of him, seemingly entranced by the sea that his gaze was focused on. She watched him curiously as he didn't move for what seemed like hours.

Eventually, the oblivious man turned his head slightly in the direction of his observer. Nenthien could feel that he was staring back at her even though she couldn't see his eyes through the approaching dark, and embarrassed, she knelt down and returned to her searching in the sand, even though she knew well there were nothing there anymore.

Anything to get away from the burning glare of the man across the beach.


	2. Chapter 2

Gil-galad, Círdan, and Thranduil sat amongst a large table within one of the great halls of Lindon. They had been there for hours, discussing the neverending strife between the different peoples of the city. After the Sons of Fëanor rose in arms against the Kingdom of Doriath, it was safe to say the Noldor would almost never be held in respect by the Sindar again, and being in control of a realm that housed both, it was difficult to keep the peace, resulting in routine meetings on how to deal with the issue.

Thranduil ignored the current discussion around him, choosing rather to focus his attention on what he thought were more pressing matters.

 _Who was the figure on the beach_?

Everytime he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the gleam in her eyes. Though, he was only able to experience it for a few seconds before she hurriedly returned to her odd digging in the sand. When their eyes had met, Thranduil felt… _different…_ as if someone had whispered an enchantment on the wind as it blew through his hair, though he knew there be no such spell.

"Thranduil?" Gil-galad looked upon the dazed elf that sat to his left. He appeared to be almost sleeping.

"Thranduil," he said again, this time less cautious.

Thranduil was roused from his daydreaming by the incessant prodding of Gil-galad, who undoubtedly did not appreciate his lack of contribution to their discussion.

"Yes, I am here," he said after blinking his eyes back into focus on the people around him.

"It did not appear as so," Círdan started, "did you hear anything of our conversation?"

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the old man before answering, "yes, Sindar and Noldor controversy, the usual, I suspect?" he said, stretching his arms out over the unusually large stone table in front of him. It was just like Círdan to ask such a question, as he always saw Thranduil as an unruly child, even though he was only a bit younger than Gil-galad.

At that, Círdan sighed, "and your opinions on this topic remain the same, I presume?"

Thranduil knew the shipmaker didn't support his dislike of the Noldor, despite him being Sindar himself, but Thranduil thought his animosity well placed. Not only did he grow up with teachings from his father about how the elves of Doriath were the most noble of them all, but the Noldor robbed him of his mother in the fall of the once great Kingdom. It was only for his knowledge that he and his father would be in need of an emissary if they were to lead their own realm, and the fact that Lindon laid near the sea, that he subjected himself to civil consultation with the kin of his mother's murderers. Oropher though, did not much like his son's idea of living with the lowly Noldor people, and would regularly send word to him from his travels to join him in the establishment of their new home.

"My mind is yet unchanged, Shipwright," Thranduil spoke with pride, challenging Círdan to question him about where his loyalties lie once again, to which he remained silent.

At that, Gil-galad dismissed their meeting, seeing as it was getting them nowhere.

"My Lords," Thranduil said as he nodded his head before turning on his heel and quickly leaving the room.

* * *

Nenthien took up her typical past time of walking along the shore, occasionally swaying her gaze away from the glittering water and towards the sand in search of more fascinating treasures that the beach had to offer.

Thranduil spotted the elf as she was strolling. He paid little attention to her as he was much too preoccupied with previously made plans to meeting a friend in the courtyard for a bit of harmful swordplay after yet another dreadful meeting with Gil-galad and Círdan. That was, until he saw her kneel in the sand to grab something.

 _What an odd girl._ He thought as she held something up towards the sun to presumably get a better look at it. The girl then placed her newly claimed treasure in an almost hidden pocket at her breast, and returned her focus towards the water when a small seabird landed near her feet. Nenthien looked at her unexpected new friend before laughing a little too loud at the display. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand and looked around to see if anyone was unfortunately close enough to have heard the unwelcome giggle, to which she noticed Thranduil standing a few paces behind her, where the sands met the stone pathway.

The sternness quickly returned to Nenthien's face, and embarrassed, she said, "you know, it is not polite to stare."

Thranduil chuckled and pushed himself off of the pillar he was leaning on, walking towards the flustered girl. After a few steps he picked up a small shell and tossed it to Nenthien. She, obviously unsuspecting of the throw, almost did not catch it when it came her way. Nenthien eyed her new possession.

"It is much too small. Nope. This will not do."

Thranduil was only an arms length away from her now.

"What do you mean it will not do? You were looking for shells were you not? What are you trying to create?"

Nenthien narrowed her eyes and fretted jokingly, "I do not know. I do not share my plans with strangers."

Thranduil smiled, "well then allow me," he said "Thranduil, My Lady," he grabbed her perfectly manicured hand from her side and gently pressed his lips to the back of it.

"Ah, the diplomat," she said, awkwardly accepting her hand back, "where was it you were from again?" Nenthien asked as she started walking, expecting her suitor to follow.

Thranduil seemed hurt, "you do not know where I hail from, yet you know of me?"

"I am merely jesting. I know you are from Doriath," she seemed amused, seeing that Thranduil was upset that she seemingly didn't know as much about him as he would have hoped, "I am Nenthien," she smiled.

"Nenthien," Thranduil said, tasting her name on his tongue, "a fitting name for a fitting place. What is it that you do, Lady Nenthien?"

She leaned over, again grabbing an object that had caught her eye from a while back.

"I do nothing," she said, standing up.

Thranduil grinned, "this I do not believe."

Nenthien seemed surprised. He paid attention to things besides himself? That was unheard of to her, as almost everything she had heard about the egotistical elf from Doriath was of the negative connotation, besides maybe anything having to do with his looks.

"I guess you will have to figure that out,"

Thranduil glared at her, "so I am to tell you about myself, but you will not tell me of you?"

"Everything you have told me so far, I was already aware of," she argued.

"That is not fair, you still know more about me than I do of you," Thranduil remarked.

She laughed, "yes, I suppose it is not the fairest, but I still will not tell you. It is not something you share arbitrarily," she thought for a bit, "well, I suppose it could be, but I enjoy games," she smiled towards the ground, "If you are meant to know, you will eventually... maybe" Nenthien thought her faux unwillingness a perfect excuse to keep the pompous elf intrigued and curious. She paused for a time, creating a slightly uncomfortable silence, to which she thought must be immediately broken to save her from further embarrassment, "I have heard that your father searches for a new Kingdom."

"He does," Thranduil started, obviously still upset at her lack of sating his desire to know more about herself, "I would accompany him, though I believe it is smarter to stay here for the time being. My father is not a fool, he is able to choose an appropriate place for a future Kingdom, so it seems I remain here."

Nenthien stared at the ground as they walked, the sun slowly setting on the horizon, painting the shore with a plethora of colors.

"Why do you believe it right to stay in Lindon? Do you not feel bitterness in the presence of our Noldor companions?"

"Do you?" he challenged.

"I asked you first," she affirmed.

Thranduil smirked. _She is a clever one, though this arguing of hers is ever so bothersome._

"I lived through the fall of Doriath. Our King, killed by the Noldor, along with many of my friends. Children we were," he sighed and heatedly tossed a shell into the water, watching as it skipped, "I lost my mother."

Nenthien watched him. She could see in his eyes that it pained him to talk of such topics.

"I am sorry," she said respectfully.

"Do not be," he looked to her, "though if you are a Noldor sympathizer, now you know how I feel, and I hope you can see through my eyes that it is a justified feeling."

Nenthien decided now was not the time to mention who she sided with in this ongoing conflict between peoples. She barely knew the elf that stood next to her.

They spoke while walking along the shore, eventually sitting by the water to watch the sun slowly retreat to its hiding spot behind the horizon. Nenthien enjoyed his unexpected company as he went on a tirade about his dreadful councils with Círdan and Gil-galad, and how all they wanted to do was improve the mutilated relations that were too far gone between the Sindar and Noldor in Lindon. He spoke endlessly, and though Nenthien listened, she assumed that at this point he just revelled at the sound of his own voice. She, in return, told him about her early life and what it was like for her growing up in Lindon, compared to what it must have been like being born in Doriath. At some point, they stopped talking and silently watched the reflection of the moon in the water as it glistened and was continually ravaged by the waves, though after each one, it was quick to correct the portrait that it shone on top of the sea.

"Well, Nenthien. I have appreciated your company, but it appears to be getting exceedingly late. I do hope we will meet again soon," Thranduil said, standing up. She followed his lead, gracefully pulling herself to an upright position. Thranduil again kissed the back of her hand. He looked at her from under his lashes as his lips made contact with her pale skin.

"Goodnight," he whispered.

Nenthien didn't respond, but instead watched him as he walked away, observing him yet again as he made his way towards the city with hubris.

 _I do desire our next meeting as well, Thranduil._

* * *

 **AN: _Nen_ means 'water' in Sindarin**


End file.
